


a place to rest my head

by bloomsoftly



Series: thank you ficlets [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-01 00:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12144657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloomsoftly/pseuds/bloomsoftly
Summary: Darcy and Steve are haunted by sleeplessness and nightmares. They find a cure for insomnia in each other.





	a place to rest my head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merideath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/gifts).



> this is a thank you gift for Meri. i hope you like it! ❤️❤️❤️

The first time it happened, Darcy was absolutely positive it was an honest mistake on Steve’s part. Due to strange circumstances that were well above her pay grade, there was some hasty shifting of apartments in Avengers Tower. Well, of two apartments in particular. Completely out of the blue, Tony had demanded that Jane and Darcy switch apartments. But they couldn’t exactly argue with the man who owned the building, and so they were rather unceremoniously booted out of their home and ‘asked’ to trade with Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, all in the span of a couple of days.

To be perfectly fair to Jane, Darcy didn’t think anyone could say no to Captain Rogers’ earnest expression. Except she was pretty sure that the Captain wasn’t involved in the ruckus at all; he was out on a mission at the time. It only took a quick word from Tony, and they were moving apartments. It wasn’t like either of them was going to complain—for once they had access to all the high-quality, cutting edge equipment their little science-y hearts could desire (and the coffee was bangin’, too)—but Darcy was more than slightly bitter about the entire thing.

When she was woken up by the thump of something heavy falling onto the floor of her new bedroom, she was disoriented and extremely grumpy about the noise. Rubbing at bleary eyes, she shifted over onto her back and peered at the doorway. For a moment, her eyes struggled to adjust to the inky blackness and she couldn’t see anything at all.

“Jane?” She tried to ask, only to choke on a mouthful of hair. Huffing to herself sleepily, she realized that she’d forgotten to braid her hair back and there was a tangled mass of dark hair smothering her face. With heavy-weighted limbs—she and Jane were coming off a three-day science binge, and she’d really been looking forward to a full night’s rest—Darcy lazily swiped at the messy locks covering her face.

By the time she’d removed the obstruction to her vision, the room had fallen silent again. Darcy blinked blearily a couple of times into the darkness, but the room was still. To be honest, she was too exhausted to be truly scared, so she only grumbled to herself silently and rolled toward the middle of the bed. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep. She nuzzled her head into the pillow, already sliding into the welcoming arms of slumber—only for her eyes to jerk open again as the bed dipped with the weight of another body.

“What the hell—” she croaked, lurching upright and blinking into the dark. A soft snore answered her, and she was just able to make out a long, firm body stretched out on the bed next to her. She rubbed her eyes, but couldn’t make out anything other than a vaguely male shape. Slightly scared and altogether sleepy, Darcy reached out with questing hands to examine the form. When her fingers met warm, slightly sticky skin, she opened her mouth to scream bloody murder. But then the unknown man shifted, rotating toward her. He let out a soft, exhausted groan, chest rising and falling beneath her tentative touch.

Darcy recognized that deep timbre; she’d fantasized about it more times than she’d ever admit. “Steve?” She whispered, foggy and wondering if she was still asleep. Her voice was hoarse and loud in the silence of the room, but it didn’t seem to fully wake him up.

He did shift again, rolling his nude body—she was afraid to check if he was wearing underwear, wasn’t sure what she wanted the answer to be and decided to leave it alone, as if his clothing situation was Schroedinger’s cat—to face her. A grumble escaped his throat again. “So…tired,” he slurred, punctuating the sentiment with another snore.

Clearly, the super soldier wasn’t going anywhere until he’d gotten his rest. And Darcy should probably leave, go find a couch to crash on or something. She was exhausted, though. Besides, it was her room and her bed. A small, sadistic voice also pointed out that she’d been fantasizing about Steve in her bed for weeks, and she’d be a fool to pass the opportunity up. With a mixture of guilt and defiance churning in her gut, Darcy rolled back over and fell into a deep sleep.

Super soldiers were warm. Extremely warm, she found out. So warm that Darcy actually woke up thinking she was back in New Mexico, taking a sunbaked nap on the roof of the lab. Instead, it was Steve’s chest pressed against her back, his arm a steel band around her waist. She took a moment to soak in the contact, then realized a couple of things in quick succession. One, that Steve was going to wake up any moment and it was going to be extremely Awkward™. Two, which she hadn’t noticed before, was that he’d clearly fallen straight into bed immediately after the mission. Which meant no shower, which in turn meant that after several hours the room was smelling a bit ripe. Not quite enough to ruin the entire experience, of course, because she was being sleep-cuddled by Steve Rogers. She was definitely going to need a thorough washing of her sheets, though.

Despite the sense of impending doom, Darcy must’ve fallen asleep again as she waited for Steve to wake up. Next thing she knew, she was waking up to yet another loud thud. She bolted upright, and a muffled groan drew her gaze to the side of the bed. “Steve?”

His head popped over the edge of the bed frame immediately. “Darcy?” He scrubbed a trembling hand over his face, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Which, _ouch_. “What are you doing—” He cut himself off, looking around the bedroom that clearly wasn’t his. “Where am I?”

“My bedroom,” she snapped, feeling guilty, as though she had somehow taken advantage of him. “To be fair, it was your bedroom first, I think. Tony made us switch apartments while you were gone.”

Steve sat on the ground, rolled up in the sheets from her bed that he’d taken with him as he toppled over the edge. When he still didn’t say anything, she hugged a pillow to her chest and added defensively, “I didn’t do anything to you. I would never. But you came stumbling into my room while I was sound asleep and I couldn’t get you to wake up and I was so tired and—”

He blinked at her diatribe, then hastened to say, “No, I didn’t think that. Not at all. I just—Tony never said anything and I—” He scraped a hand through his grimy hair, then looked with total horror at where his uniform lay crumpled on her floor. “Oh my god, I didn’t even shower. I’m so sorry, Darcy.” He stumbled upright, and she tried to avert her eyes, she really did. But she caught a glimpse of dark fabric and knew that at least her nudity question had been answered. Probably for the best, really, considering his already-profound embarrassment. If he’d been naked, he might well have refused to ever look at her again.

She waved his apologies away. “Seriously, it’s okay. I’ll just put my sheets in the wash today, everything will be fine.”

Nodding distractedly from where he was attempting to break the sound barrier with the speed of his dressing, he mumbled, “Okay, if you’re sure. I’m sorry, so sorry.” Without even looking at her, he headed for the door.

“Steve?” She called before he could disappear altogether.

His head snuck back into view, like a puppy waiting to be punished. She sighed, and let go of what she’d wanted to say. “We’re good?”

“We’re good,” was his response, unconvincingly delivered with a flat grin and tight lines around his eyes. As he vanished, she couldn’t shake off the sense that she’d lost something—something sweet and precious that hadn’t ever actually had the chance to begin.

When she stumbled out of her bedroom a few minutes later in desperate need of some coffee, Jane was already in the kitchen.

“Was that Captain America I just saw doing a walk of shame out of your bedroom, Darcy? Still in his uniform, no less.” Jane tsk’ed with an evil grin.

In reply, Darcy groaned and let her head fall forward to thud against the counter.

 

* * *

 

Steve avoided Darcy like the plague after the incident, as she and Jane had taken to calling it. Not that they’d ever had much reason to see each other in the first place, but still. It only took two or three times of him fleeing a room every time she walked in for her to get the point, and the other residents of the Tower were starting to give her odd looks. She tried not to take it too personally, figuring that he was probably still feeling awkward and embarrassed.

That hunch was proved correct when Tony himself stopped by the labs, mumbling some kind of vague apology for making them change apartments—not that he offered to let them change back, she noticed—winking at her, and then disappearing into his void of a workshop. Of course she knew that Steve had put him up to it; there’s no way Tony would ever apologize for something like that on his own. (He regularly hacked into her phone to ‘expand her infantile musical tastes’ and regularly refused to say thank you to any of the techs in the labs. The man was not the type to apologize on his own.) Steve continued to avoid her, though, and it hurt.

Needless to say, she was utterly surprised when he showed up in one of the common rooms at two o’clock in the morning as she was eating ice cream and watching trashy television. Even more surprising was that he plopped down next to her on the couch instead of running away. He was wearing a wrinkled pair of sweatpants and a soft t-shirt—stretched too tightly over his chest, as always. She tried, and failed, not to think about how much better he smelled this time. It was the kind of warm, inviting smell that made her want to cuddle up next to him and forget about her nightmares.

Resisting the urge, she focused on shoveling another bite of ice cream into her mouth. “I’m surprised you’re not immediately running away,” she mumbled, gaze boring into her innocent spoon. It gleamed dully up at her, taunting her with her cowardice.

She could practically feel his cringe. The sigh that escaped him vibrated through her body; she hadn’t realized he was sitting so close to her. “I’m sorry, Darcy. I panicked, I know. I was so embarrassed, and I didn’t know how to face you after that.”

With a rueful laugh, she pointed out, “But it’s been like two months. I never even blamed you for any of it. And yet,” she said, pointing her spoon at him, “you still leave the room every time I enter.”

His face fell. “I’ve been an idiot, I know. And I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”

The man knew how to pull off the apologetic pout, she’d give him that. Chuckling to cover her weakness, she joked, “Can I get that statement on record?”

Grinning in relief, he said, “Sure. Just—can you please not show it to Tony?”

“No promises.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. They settled into the couch together, leaning back against the comfortable cushions.

“So. What are you watching?”

“Whatever’s on. Sometimes my brain is too loud. Trashy television seems to work.” Something about the late hour made her confess, “I still have nightmares, sometimes. From New Mexico. And London.”

“I know all about those.” As he spoke, his eyes were dark with remembered pain. Not knowing what else to do, she dropped her head to his shoulder. His arm came up to cradle her against him, wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her into his body.

“Well, maybe trashy TV will help you, too.” Darcy gently rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, hoping fervently that he couldn’t hear the thready thrum of her heartbeat.

“Maybe.” His chin dropped to rest on the crown of her head, and neither of them moved an inch.

She woke up sometime in the middle of the night surrounded by Steve’s body heat yet again. They were horizontal, now, with Darcy’s torso draped over his. It was warm and comfortable, and she had no intention of moving. He’d just have to suck it up this time, and get over his embarrassment before it even started. With that defiant thought, she nuzzled against his chest and allowed herself to drift off again. Before she fell asleep, though, she felt something soft running through her hair over and over, from her scalp down to the middle of her back. It was soothing, and she was lost to the gentle pull of the rhythm within moments.

When she woke up, her face was mashed into one of the couch cushions and her sleeping companion was gone.

 

* * *

 

Honestly, part of her expected that Steve would go back to avoiding her again, but he didn’t.

Instead, the opposite seemed to be true. More often than not, he found his way into Darcy’s path. It was like he had a homing beacon for when she was avoiding her nightmares, snacking on some kind of junk food in the middle of the night. It made sense in a weird, lonely sort of way, that one insomniac would find another. Like there was some sort of glaring signal screaming ‘I’m afraid and alone’ that guided him to her.

Their mutual insomnia increased in frequency, until they found themselves tangled together almost every night. What his excuse was, she didn’t know. But Darcy found it hard to sleep alone in her own bed when she knew that he was probably awake somewhere in the tower, ready to be cuddled. If that made her pathetic, she didn’t really care.

More often than not she woke at some point in the night, wrapped in his arms. He’d have her cuddled to him, her head pillowed on his firm chest, one arm around her back and the other stroking her hair. The first couple of times, she wasn’t sure it was happening, wondering if it was her sleep-deprived imagination. It kept happening, though, and eventually she became sure. She wanted to say something, anything about it, but never had the energy to figure out the perfect words. And every time she woke up again, he was already gone. The smell of his aftershave lingered on the cushions, otherwise she might’ve thought she really was going insane.

The next night, though, they were right back at it, and the routine started all over again.

The unspoken rule of silence surrounding their little dance began to wear at her, deepening the dark circles under her eyes and gouging permanent worry marks into her lower lip. Darcy felt as though she was caught in a loop of impossible choices: she couldn’t stay away from him, her heart wouldn’t let her. Yet, every night she spent cuddled up next to him was followed by a day of pretend ignorance, and she felt as though it was tearing her apart.

On one such morning, Darcy lingered in her position stretched out on the common room for a few minutes after she woke, eyes kept firmly shut against the growing light of day. She didn’t want to face the emptiness of the room. But her fantasies of how the night could’ve gone couldn’t hold her forever, and eventually she had to force herself to move. You’re being ridiculous, Darce, she chastised herself. It’s not like you have any claim to him, no matter how hard you hold onto him at night. Rubbing at her eyes tiredly—she deserved extra caffeine today, she decided—she reached for her glasses and frowned in confusion.

There was an unfamiliar leather-bound book resting on the table. Curiosity got the better of her, and before she could decide whether it was a good idea or not, the book was falling open in her lap and she was thumbing through it with fascination. Her jaw dropped at the talent captured within the pages; they were Steve’s sketches, that was clear. Images of the Brooklyn of his youth, people he’d known and never talked about. Not to her, at least. This was clearly a huge invasion of his privacy, and Darcy shoved the journal away from her with a heavy, guilty heart. She pushed too hard, though, and it toppled to the floor.

With immediate remorse, she bent to scoop it up and deposit it gently on the table. She froze halfway through the motion, staring down at the book in awe. There, staring up at her from its careworn pages, was her own likeness. Brushing a fingertip over the charcoal lines, Darcy blinked around the tears welling in her eyes. She was beautiful. He’d drawn her in a million different poses: blinking heavily over a steaming cup of coffee, sound asleep and wrapped in a knitted blanket, staring out a rainy window. The thing that struck her the most about it, though, was the care with which he’d drawn her face. In every image, the lines were precise and tender, as if he’d spent hours memorizing them. Her fingers lingered, tracing the flow of the sketches across the page.

Her heart pulsed against her ribs, hard and quick, suffusing her veins with an intolerable warmth. With color rushing to her cheeks, the weight of her revelations leaving her faint and dizzy, she asked, “FRIDAY, is Steve in the Tower?” Surely he wouldn’t have left something precious within easy discovery of other people, not on purpose. Darcy had certainly never seen it before.

“No, Miss Lewis. Captain Rogers was called to assemble early this morning.” The AI sounded vaguely apologetic, and Darcy wondered whether it was capable of feeling sympathy. Suddenly, she was curious what this strange dance between the two of them looked like to the AI, then shook away the fanciful thought. “Would you like me to relay a message to him for you?”

“No,” the young woman answered thoughtfully. “But thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Lewis.”

Carefully, Darcy closed the journal and put it back where she’d found it. With a brain full of half-formed plans and ideas, she left the room.

 

* * *

 

Although Darcy made her way to the common room—to their couch, as she’d begun to think of it—every night, she didn’t see Steve again for almost another week. When she did, he’d beat her there. There was a bowl of half-melted ice cream on the coffee table (no journal in sight, she noted with interest), and some kind of cooking show quietly broadcasting from the TV.

He looked up with a tired grin as she entered the room, a strange expression flitting across his face. She almost wanted to call it relief, but didn’t know what he had to be relieved about. He looked exhausted, and she told him so. “Damn, Steve. What happened? You look like shit.”

Steve’s grin morphed into a huff of quiet laughter, and he shrugged in acknowledgment. “Wasn’t the best mission,” was all he said, lifting his arm so that she could slide into her usual spot cuddled against his side. “But we’re home now. I haven’t been getting much sleep.”

With her heart beating like a drum, so loud it was drowning out her own thoughts, she leaned away from him. His eyes were blue and curious, and she almost lost her nerve. “Well, I imagine sleeping on a couch isn’t gonna help with that.”

His face was blank for an excruciating second as he suppressed a flinch of hurt. It was brief, a flash of emotion before he shielded it and started to pull away. “You’re right, I’m sorry—”

“Luckily—” It was hard to get the word out over her pounding heart, lungs seizing and collapsing around what little air she’d taken in. She was too loud, trying to hear herself over her racing pulse, and he fell silent. “Luckily, we already know that my bed is big enough for the two of us.”

Standing on shaky legs, she held a hand out to him. He stood, but didn’t take it, leaving it to hover in the air between them as he examined her expression.

“Darcy, what are you saying?”

Expelling the air she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, she took a deep breath. Her heart still wouldn’t settle, so she took another. Finally, she was in control of herself enough to murmur, “I’m tired of being in limbo, Steve. And I want you to come to bed with me. What—what do you say?” Her tongue was tacky and heavy in her mouth, thick and clumsy and choking on her words.

All of a sudden, his entire demeanor relaxed. The rigidness of the Captain persona was gone, and only sweet, earnest, sassy Steve was left.

“I’d say—” he grinned, something wicked and playful and light, “—that I’m glad you’re braver than I am, sweetheart. And that I hope you’ve cleaned your sheets since the last time I was in your bed.”

She snorted at that and looked away, hiding her expression as he finally took her hand. “Give me some credit, Rogers. When I say that I love the way you smell, that doesn’t actually include your sweaty grossness after missions, okay?”

Ignoring the important part of the statement, Steve stepped closer—so close she had to tilt her head to look up at him. “You love the way I smell?”

Rolling her eyes, Darcy started down the hall. “I do. Is that a problem?” It was strange, feeling so shy around him. As though everything had changed. Her insides swooped and fluttered, over and over until she couldn’t tell up from down. She felt disoriented and giddy all at once.

Steve pulled her to a stop, swinging in front of her. He tilted her chin back with a knuckle, waiting silently until her eyes met his. “Darcy, there is absolutely nothing about this that could even remotely be considered a problem.”

And then, as she was parsing through that statement to try and understand his meaning, his head tilted toward hers.

She rose to her tiptoes to meet him halfway, and their lips brushed for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make the world go 'round.  
>   
> you can also find me on [tumblr](http://bloomsoftly.tumblr.com). ❤️


End file.
